


Stupid Nobility

by prettyfacebreaker



Category: Original Work
Genre: Beating, Begging, Crying, Death, Face Punching, Gun Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Insults, M/M, Major Character Injury, Major Character(s), Major Original Character(s), Original Character Death(s), Sadism, Self-Destruction, Self-Sacrifice, Shooting, Slurs, Swearing, Temporary Character Death, Violence, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:20:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24494917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettyfacebreaker/pseuds/prettyfacebreaker
Summary: In consideration, he deserved as much. He had been through enough and besides, selflessness was a virtue in some cases.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	Stupid Nobility

**Author's Note:**

> This one is heavier with the violence so be safe.

Santiago was paralyzed as he stood in front of the Sicario, his arms crossed and licking his lips as he prepared to break possibly the worst news of his life. In his mind, he only needed to show remorse and polite deference, otherwise, this would not end well for him in any direction.

For once, he wished that it was Eladio instead.

Nick's lips pressed together and he sighed quietly, looking at the hanging wall clock and drumming his fingers on his thigh and he looked up at the soldier, who failed miserably to hide his dread. It was unusual for such a low-ranking associate to be this nervous in front of someone who barely peeked his head over 'street boss' unless something had gone unforgivably, irreparably wrong.

Making steeple fingers as the two maintained eye contact, Nick leaned back into the folding chair and the corners of his mouth curled up into a tight-lipped smile.

"Explain yourself," Nick insisted, feigning politeness.

Santiago swallowed hard and made fists that he tucked tightly near the ribs as a defense. To explain himself would mean admitting that he had misread the location of the dead-drop, where the drop in question had been an agonizing twenty-thousand euros. To explain himself would mean sabotaging any bit of trust left in his usefulness to someone unburdened by hesitation when he slashed throats. Now how was he going to explain that? Where would he find the strength? To Nick, that didn't matter.

In the meantime, Nick narrowed his eyes more and more with each passing second of silence. "I'm waiting."

"Sir, the drop-" Santiago started, not getting very far before he was waved down.

"I know the fucking drop wasn't put in right, why the _fuck_ not?" Each snapping intonation made him flinch slightly before drawing in a deep breath and bluffing confidence.

"I read the location wrong, sir. I'm sorry, sir. It was '2192' but I-I—"

"I-I-" Nicked snapped suddenly, mimicking his stammer, "Use your damn tongue. You read the location wrong? Yeah? What did you read it as, hm?" He pricked up his eyebrows. Because I am fucking _itching_ to know."

Clearing his throat, he stammered back in a practically inaudible whisper: "3192" before being cut off by an explosion of laughter where he shrunk away on impulse, gaping.

"Well, Santiago, I didn't know you were dyslexic. Why didn't you tell me? I mean, shit if-if I knew I was sending a fucking _cripple_ to pick up twenty g's I would have gone myself, don't you think?" Nick stood up now and kicked the chair backward, letting it clatter to the warehouse floor and began to approach.

"I might've got the wrong impression. Is this a game?" he quietly snarled with a hint of farce. Nick approached so slowly, it was clear there was no room to break into a getaway sprint.

His voice broke and he wavered on his feet, "I swear, s-sir. It was a stupid mistake, I swear it'll never happen again. I swear." Santiago's tendency to default to a stream of consciousness was rarely helpful, but he couldn't help it. His hands gripped each other desperately as he stood, unmoving, and waiting for the impact.

"Oh, you're right. You are so. fucking. right. You know why? I'm not going to worry about sending you on any more pick-ups. In fact, you shouldn't worry either." This time, Santiago had gone too far. This time, there was no mercy for his incompetence. It was the least you were expected to know about organized crime.

Before Santiago had broken the news, the warehouse had not been empty, however. In the dim expanse, Nick had been sitting with his lawyer and working out the details of a nearing trial—well, more so distracting Mr. Grigorian who hopelessly begged for his cooperation, short of tearing his hair out. When Santiago had walked in, looking as guilty as he did, that meeting had promptly stopped, the lawyer standing up to leave as instantly as he had been gestured away by Nick's flippant hand. Unfortunately, gesturing him away wasn't enough to make him leave; he had stayed by the entrance out of curiosity mixed with fearful anticipation.

Outside the depot, Hayko stood with his arms crossed, anxiously tapping his foot as he waited out what he could only assume to be a brutal chewing-out of the offender. In truth, he didn't exactly know what the nature of an average punishment was at the cartel and wasn't keen on finding out. From the sudden clatter of the chair and increasingly aggressive voice, he could only assume the worst—although, not worse than what was to come.

"Sir, please—" Santiago started, backing up. The man's eyes flew from Nick's seething face to his fists as they balled threateningly, but his pleas failed to slow him down.

"No-no-no—don't plead," Nick hissed, his nose flaring. "It won't help, _trust_ me."

A sickening _crack_ echoed through the depot, Santiago's head snapping backward on the impact of the first fist. Dust flew up and pooled through the light as he hit the floor, gasping and suddenly aware of the streak of blood trailing down his face and dripping onto the floor. The next hit came instantly, and so did the one after that. Barely able to breathe between strikes, Santiago wailed with strained cries, swinging aimlessly at his attacker until his missed shots graduated to protective arms tightening over his face, face going white in the realization that he may not leave the warehouse alive.

Blow after blow, the fists and boot rained down on him hard, Nick beating him so savagely that his grunts were breathless not long after, but the violence didn't falter. Santiago was begging, begging for his life and soon, begging for somebody—anybody to save him or rather kill him. The acoustics of the depot were perfect to emphasize each tortured scream, too perfect, in fact, because it didn't take long for Hayko to recognize what was happening.

Petrified, the lawyer stood facing the door as each crack and groan and sob ripped through the vacancy, watching helplessly and trembling, frozen in place with shallow, rapid breathing. _He's going to kill him._ He ran his hands through his hair and then wrung them, flinching backward with each howl of pain. _He's going to kill him._ Santiago's guttural chokes and voice-breaks became more animalistic as the seconds droned by.

"Useless. Pathetic. _Fucking_ —" Nick growled through grit teeth through the space between each time his boot came driving into Santiago's ribcage, through each responding scream, through each spurt of blood from his bruised lips and onto the floor.

A breathless shriek suddenly came from the entrance, "Stop-Stop! You're going to fucking kill him! Stop!" and Hayko sprinted the short distance to raise two trembling hands to plead but not for his life, for once. "Jesus, fuck. _Stop_. He's had enough."

Surprisingly, Nick did stop and he slowly turned from his focus to face the lawyer, his manic eyes wide, his knuckles coated with blood, and his chest heaving. He stared at him, mouth agape in disbelief that quickly turned to unbridled fury. Hayko knew now the price he was going to pay for his stupid nobility. It was stupider that he was willing to make that sacrifice.

"Didn't quite catch that?" He approached him now, with the same degree of menace as he had Santiago before beating him bloody. "Hayko? I didn't quite catch that."

"I said stop," he choked out the order, trembling. "Please, you're—" _No, don't plead. He doesn't respond to pleading._ "You're going to KILL him!"

Nick came closer, still. His eyes twitched and suddenly, he sputtered out a laugh that bounced in his throat a few times and brought a sparkle to the frenzied eyes. Hayko drew back, terrified but somewhat relieved. He had left Santiago alone, leaving him to shake with sobs as he repeatedly begged: "N'more, ple-ease." Hayko could have cried, seeing him like that. Strangers though they were, the sight was revolting.

"That's the idea, babe," Nick leered as he brought up his knuckle and grazed his tongue over the heavy coating of blood, beaming at Hayko's reaction.

The lawyer stepped away, empathizing, "He's just a Soldado. He didn't-it was a mistake. You've taught him his lesson. He won't do it again, ever." He stole a look at Santiago who could barely even recognize who had intervened, let alone be grateful.

"Are you trying to tell me how to do my job? Hm?" Nick's fingers curled as he closed in on Hayko, who had unwisely decided not to bother backing up anymore. "You're _really_ fucking stupid to catch me like this instead of leaving."

Swallowing, his Adam's apple bobbed. "I guess I am." He made his decision on the spot there—that he would volunteer to be Nick's focus, just to give Santiago a fighting chance or his last moments to make peace with certain, untimely death. In consideration, he deserved as much. He had been through enough and besides, selflessness was a virtue in some cases.

"I guess you are," he snarled, standing in front of him now with eyes towering over Hayko who indignantly returned the stare.

_Do your worst, you fucking degenerate._

It was like Nick had heard this challenge and his knee drove up into Hayko's stomach without hesitation, watching him double over and convulse at the pain, wide-eyed. He didn't give him a chance to recover before his fist came rounding into his face, knocking his head sideways and didn't need to stop to think of what to follow that up with.

His hands clenching his aching jaw, Hayko hunched over, gasping and was about to spin around to plead until he felt the weight of Nick's arm wrenching his hair back so viciously that his legs gave away beneath him, collapsing hard.

"Stop, stop, I'm sorry—"

He was cut off by Nick, who tightened his grip in the hair, "I'll make you fucking sorry, you little _shit_." Hayko didn't doubt he was being honest and the agony of having his hair pulled like this could only be assuaged by the comfort that Santiago was free from the beating, even if only temporarily. Still, as Nick jammed a knee against his spine and jerked his hair backward, a cry tore through his throat, the white pain blanking his mind.

"These days, I'm tired of your smart mouth. You never know when to shut up, do you?" The knee pulled away and as Hayko was about to gasp in relief, it came ramming back into his head with such force that the warehouse lights flared for a second. His hands flew up to shield himself from another kick but Nick wasn't interested in that anymore. Instead, he lunged at the cowering man and slammed him into the ground—making sure his head bounced off the metal on impact—and straddled him.

From this angle, with the light beaming down behind Nick's head, he looked twice as old and twice as insane. It was actually more terrifying than watching him wind back his fist with one hand and feel him slam the other on his throat, pressing down the aching crown of his head.

 _Thud._ One.

 _Thud._ Two.

 _Thud. Crack. Scream._ Three.

After the fifth bash to the face, Hayko's head bobbed back and he convulsed, his face painted with blood, agony, and the struggle to breathe. Tears ran down the sides of his head, making his bruises shimmer. He's going to kill me. Fiercely, his hands beat on and clawed Nick's chest until they found no reason to—it's not like he was stopping from that. He's going to kill me. All he could do was take it, take each swing, drown out each crack of bone, miss each breath. He could take it because he had to because he chose to. I'm going to die.

Finally, he was given mercy. Finally, air pooled into his lungs as Hayko arched his back, gasping. Had he been given mercy? He didn't think about that, instead of letting out rattling coughs and letting in weak breaths. Clawing at his throat, the man savored and dreaded every wheeze, and his sobs suddenly became audible. Punching through his chest, his wails drew out as his arms shot to his face against any more blows.

Nick let up and jumped off of Hayko after allowing him the brief reprieve. It hadn't meant to be mercy but the lawyer was starting to turn blue and he wanted to draw this out for a little bit more. Just to see how much further he could go.

"Ple-ease...sto-op...ple-ease," he moaned weakly into his arms and curled up further. It struck him suddenly that he sounded remarkably like Santiago, who watched the scene unfold with a hand over his mouth as if about to be sick.

Nick's lips matted with Hayko's blood, he only grinned widely at the pleas with his chest heaving.

"Not so fucking smart, are you now? Not so bold either, yeah? How's it feel? Tell me how it fucking _feels_ , pretty-boy. Tell me, come on."

He kneeled one leg at a time and dipped to Hayko's level to hiss right at his battered face and as the man squeezed his eyes and said nothing, Nick could feel the fury creeping back into his limbs.

"Giving me the silent treatment, hm? That's cute—that you think I'll stop now."

Weakly, Hayko lowered his hands and craned his neck to glare right at him with a strength he didn't know he had left. Lips parting with a tremble, he spat out, " _F-fuck_ you, N-Nick. You insane, degenerate _j-junkie_."

Nick stared in disbelief and his eyebrows shot up as he took a second to let the insult sink in. It was so astonishing how bold the lawyer was in the face of death, it was almost a turn-on. And of course, Nick admired insanity in every form. Unfortunately, he couldn't allow this.

He stayed on his knees in silence for a second, bathing in the wavering, pained whimpers before getting to his feet and delivering one last kick to the ribs, just to hear Hayko's voice break. Then, slowly he glanced over to his old work: Santiago.

The soldier cowered on the ground, his hand trembling and pressed against his lips as he watched Nick approach in panic.

"No-no...please..." Santiago sobbed quietly, trying to drag himself to safety with the last shred of power left in him, but didn't get very far before Nick had his pistol right between the eyes and the deafening shot rang across the warehouse.

Hayko _screamed_.

Slowly, slowly, the Sicario's footsteps retreated to the doors and he wrenched them open, grunting softly. "I was gonna let him live, you know?"

Hayko's jaw trembled as he watched Nick step out and shut the warehouse behind him. All that was left now was him. Only him.

He pressed his legs to his chest and sobbed freely.

There was nobody else to hear him.

...


End file.
